


Always

by OnlyInAutumn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, Slightly AU in beginning, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 12:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12276855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyInAutumn/pseuds/OnlyInAutumn
Summary: She was no longer just herself anymore. There was a baby in her, growing, proving that her womb was still able to give life.





	Always

The first time it happened was in the dark corner of Dragonstone against the door of Jon’s bedchambers.

She knew better than to be there, to linger. She didn’t even know what to say, but she knew what she wanted to.

_Don’t go._

_It’s too dangerous._

_I don’t want anything bad to happen to you._

She stood outside his door for a long time in deep contemplation and it wasn’t until the door opened with hast that she realized she better come up with a reason as to why she was there in the first place.

“Jon,” she greeted, but her voice was so soft that maybe he hadn’t even heard her.

He stood there, wide eyed, clearly not having expected Daenerys. He blinked, she blinked, and neither said anything. Jon stepped out and closed the door behind him.

His stance softened, shoulders pulling downward. Jon was comfortable around her, she noticed, a remarkable difference ever since he stepped foot on the shores.

Dany dropped her gaze to her hands that found their way to lace together in front of her as if she might start to ask for something from the Gods. She felt somewhat shy around Jon now that it was just the two of them huddled in the outcove of the door.

“I admire your bravery,” she started off with, bringing her eyes back to his, “but you know you are going on a mission that will get you killed.”

Jon nodded, taking in her words. His voice was deep and gruff when he replied, “I have to try.”

She stepped forward and Jon took a hesitant step back, as he had done in the cave. “If something goes wrong…”

She trailed off, not finishing, mostly not wanting to think about it. Jon was watching her, eyes glazing over Dany. “You’re worried about the King in the North who is in _open rebellion_?”

The corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile as he repeated her own words back to her from the first time they met in the throne room. There was no point in trying to subdue the grin that took over her face as well.

It was strange for the both of them—the pair were definitely not used to such light expressions.

“I find that I don’t mind him so much these days.”

It started there.

Jon exhaled deeply, swallowing hard and stepped forward, so close that she felt his breath on her. He was going to say something else, but it became lost to him.

She knew then that the desire was certainly not solely hers and the confidence in her grew. Dany drew her hands up and let her fingers brush against the metal plate he wore, the Stark sigil melted into it, the two wolves snarling at each other. That had been them one their first meeting, both irritated at each other for their lack of understanding and willingness to see the other’s perspective, only in their case she was a dragon, and he was the wolf.

And somehow the snarling turned into mutual admiration.

Something inside of her switched in that moment. She looked up at him once more to the eyes that were watching her movements closely. Daenerys made the decision without much thought of any consequences.

She could deal with those later.

“You have too many layers on,” she muttered, annoyed at them, knowing that the removal would be a challenge for her.

Before anything could be said, she pushed up on the toes of her boots, and pressed her lips into his. He responded fiercely and immediately, devouring her, tongue slipping past her lips as he cupped her face.

Dany knew then he might just want it more than she did.

When his hand fell from her neck to her chest, grabbing her breast that was covered by the material, it still made her lean into him, wanting more.

_Give me everything._

So there was no confusion, she yanked at his clothes, and Jon stripped his upper half faster than she thought would be possible, metal clanking to the ground and echoing in the hall that was empty except for the two of them. Dany’s hands attacked the laces to his breeches until he took over so she could hike up the dress she wore.

She caught a brief glimpse of how his eyes had gone dark with lust. Jon sharply inhaled when he picked her up with ease. He pushed her against the door for stability, and settled between her legs, wiggling into place, fingers pressed firmly into her thighs. She felt his hot breath on her neck as he grunted, cock finding her slick entrance, pushing into her with once smooth thrust.

“Hmmm,” she hummed as she adjusted around him.

She found it a bit funny how his resolve had cracked to easily. The once stone-faced King in the North was just a man after all.

A man who wanted _her_ , the so called foreign invader.

She hid a grin.

Dany gripped Jon’s neck with one hand, a few curls trapped beneath her grasp. Her other arm scooped around his side so her palm laid flat on his back, nails digging into the skin occasionally.

It felt so good with him inside her. He was not rough with her, but there was a sense of urgency with each thrust, every time he pounded into her. For some reason she knew, this is what she wanted to give him, a part of herself, the most intimate part of herself.

It was quicker than she expected, but it was not as if she were keeping time.

He groaned into her ear when he released inside of her. Jon’s body relaxed against hers, pushing her into the door more than before, and she stroked the nape of his neck as he regained his breath, entirely content.

It was a moment of peace.

They had both needed it.

When he dropped her back to her feet, something passed over his face. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. His stony composure broke, stumbling over his own words, not looking at her as he pulled up his breeches and laced them. “I—I shouldn’t have…I…if you were to fall pregnant...”

She tensed in her spot, stance stiffening, and explained it quickly, reminded again of a future she wouldn’t have.

There wasn’t relief on his part when she told him it was not possible, which she found odd. Maybe he simply felt pity for her and it masked the rest of the emotions.

“I believe your ship is ready,” she told him.

They said nothing more. Dany smoothed her hair out along with her dress and walked back down the way she came.

—

When he said goodbye to her at the beach, it wasn’t awkward. It had been only that morning he had been inside her, moaning as he released into her. There should have been discomfort upon seeing each other again, but he feeling never came.

It seemed like more needed to be said, that they were both holding back. Still, they kept to formalities. Too many people around watching the exchange.

“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,” he told her.

At his side, his gloved fingers fidgeted, and it reminded her of those hands on her thighs.

_I want you by my side during those wars,_ she thought to herself.

“I wish you good fortune Beyond the Wall,” she stated back. “Don’t freeze to death.”

He shook his head, another slight smile appearing. She wanted to remember him that way.

_Say goodbye._

She was letting him go. She had no option.

He was a king.

In the water as the group rowed toward the ship, Daenerys watched as Jon glanced back at her standing on the shore as the waves rolled up. It was a moment so brief and secretive, and it reassured her that somehow, someway, everything was going to work out.

—

She rode Drogon all the way past the Wall to save him. There was no choice in the matter, not to Dany.

She needed him alive.

She needed him safe.

The raven came and she dressed for the climate, no hesitation. Tyrion, of course, advised her not to, but he was only thinking logically. She appreciated the concern, but she had to do what she had to do.

Simple.

She realized then that Lady Olenna was right all along. She had to be a dragon. She had to be fierce and take control sometimes.

Go with her heart.

_Listen to instinct_.

—

Daenerys lost Viserion, one of her children, and as painful and heartbreaking as it was, Jon was still alive. There was hope.

She stayed with him on the boat, waiting to recover, watching as he breathed in and out in sometimes ragged breaths. Once he woke up, he apologized, and the apology took her off guard. She let her walls down and let the tears fall.

Let herself be vulnerable.

When he grabbed her hand, called her his queen, told her that he believed in her, she felt the stirring in her stomach. Feelings she wasn’t sure she would feel so deeply so quickly were bubbling to the surface.

So was the desire.

She reached out without warning and touched a scar on his lower abdomen, no longer able to keep her hands to herself. Her palm flattened as felt the rest of the scars, all the way up to his heart, where he took her hand and held it tight. She noticed his jaw tightened, almost as if he were holding something back that he wanted to say.

Daenerys pulled away her hand from his grasp, a moment of rejection crossing his face, only to have it be replaced by anticipation.

She stood up and shed her clothes as swiftly as she could and got on top of him, more than willing to do all the work that time. She needed him, _craved_ him, and knew that he felt the same way. 

Whatever it was between them, the invisible pull that drove them together, was overwhelming in the best possible way.

It was no shock to Daenerys to see he was already hard when she pulled the furs down to throw her leg over his other side. She was careful with him, given the near death experience he dealt with. She kissed him first on the lips, then trailed down his body, hitting every scar, and noticed he smelled like the outdoors still.

He moaned once she took his manhood, hands grabbing at her bare breasts before he grabbed her hips so hard and it made her think purple bruises might appear.

_Let them_ , she thought slyly.

The boat and Dany seemed to be in sync at first, rocking together to the same rhythm with ease, taking it slow. She had two hands planted firmly on his abdomen for stability, Jon gazing right at her.

She had not had a lover who was so vocal before.

It excited her, the clear evidence that she was doing _that_ to him.

She didn’t even bother telling him to be quiet, she liked watching him try to keep it down himself, his internal battle. He bit down on his bottom lip multiple times until Jon couldn’t take it anymore, cursed loudly, and spilled into her once again, calling her by her name.

She laid next to him for the rest of the night and Jon insisted that she cuddle close to him, her head on his chest, fingers stroking his side. She was comfortable with him, more than anyone before. It was effortless with Jon.

Daenerys pondered the idea that the whole time, Jon was just across the Narrow Sea, fate having already set up their worlds to collide.

Perhaps, it was how it was going to be from the very start.

Before they fell asleep, he told her the full story of how he got those scars. It made her angry, and if those who had stabbed him were still alive, she would have burned them for their treachery.

—

In the pits as they waited, he mentioned his doubts about Mirri Maz Duur and it sparked something in Dany, but only for a moment.

No, it wasn’t possible.

But she still had the thought, the brief thought of another child coming into the world, the world she would build—Jon’s child—a little one to run about and learn to ride a dragon.

It hurt to think of impossibilities. How foolish she had been when she was younger. If only she had known what she knew present day.

Then again, she learned from her mistakes.

—

Every night they were on the boat sailing to White Harbor, without fail, Jon came to her room. She expected him every time, dressing in barely anything when she opened the door and shut it behind him, closing them off together.

Together.

She thought about that word a lot and Jon liked to repeat it when talking about their plans once they got to the North. But that matter was never discussed when he was in her courters.

Daenerys would spend the evening with his head in between her legs, hands digging into her thighs as he worked with his tongue in ways she hadn’t received before. Jon was no selfish lover. Only when she was satisfied and clawing at his scalp did he move to get on top of her, pupils so dark with want that they overtook his iris.

She liked to hold him afterwards in the place he would collapse, body spent, his head on her chest, his body still wedged between her legs, letting her breaths lulling him to sleep. He confessed to her one night that he felt less alone in the world with her there, and Dany held him tighter.

She felt the same way.

—

When they arrived at White Harbor, they were on horseback the rest of the way.

The snows and the winds had picked up, and she kept a hood up and over her head to block the flakes that fell relentlessly from the sky engulfed by dark clouds.

The snow was strange to her, as was the weather. Jorah and Tyrion seemed disinterested in the coating of white on the ground, but Dany knew it was beautiful, even remarkable. Jon made a joke about her blending in too well, pointing to her hair, and told her she would fit right in at Winterfell—his home.

A few days passed and they were up and out early, no one getting much sleep, as they all knew that were on borrowed time. She started to feel it then, the sudden queasiness of her stomach. She tried to push past it, bury the feeling and pray it went away, but it persisted and grew stronger. It forced Daenerys pulled the reigns of the horse, and as he obeyed, she dismounted without help in a hurry.

The rest of them came to a halt behind her.

“What is it?” she heard Jorah ask with concern, and then something else that she could not hear.

She walked into the snow off the road, the bottom of her boots covered in white, only making it a few yards before the contents of her breakfast forced its way out of her throat. Even then, the sick feeling did not pass entirely.

Missandei raced to her as watchful eyes examined what was happening. She grabbed her elbow gently, inspecting her face for any signs of distress. “Do you feel ill?”

Daenerys didn’t have time to respond. Jon came up behind her, hand clutching her lower back to hold her steady. It was too intimate of a touch out there among the rest, but he must not have been thinking. She didn’t care either because Dany felt better with him by her side. She wanted to fall into his arms and stay there.

She felt weak, dizzy, and knew she could not continue for the rest of the day despite only being on horseback for a few hours. She told Grey Worm to keep moving North—they could not afford to stop just because of her. He took a lot of the men with him after the command, marching on, knowing there was no sense in arguing with his queen. He would do as told, as he always did.

She told Jon to go too, keep moving, keep heading for Winterfell.

Jon stayed.

—

She knew the change was happening once they had arrived and she had gotten settled in. Her stomach had swelled only slightly but it was enough for her and Missandei to both notice and make the connection. Daenerys told her to keep it between them for the time being, no one else needed to know.

The swelling meant she was a few months along by that point, which Dany knew must mean that the conception must have occurred at Dragonstone.

Daenerys found herself tracing her fingers down the middle of her belly as she lay in bed at night, the winds howling outside, the fire crackling in the room to keep her warm.

She was no longer just herself anymore. There was a baby in her, growing, proving that her womb was still able to give life.

Something of a miracle.

Either that or the witch had only been out to scare her. It didn’t matter really, all that mattered was Dany was no longer going to be just a mother to dragons.

The thought almost scared her, after what happened the last time, but more so given the current circumstances. The baby was mostly Targaryen, somewhat Stark. Jon knew the truth and things were different. He was distant and she would give him the space that he needed, but she could tell he was struggling.

He loved her.

She loved him.

But now she loved another even more—their child.

Would it be a girl, or boy? How could she tell Jon? _Should_ she tell him? They were the thoughts that plagued her at night as the Army of the Dead approached and there was the most important question of all—would she survive to bring the child into the world?

Would any of them survive?

—

Ghost knew.

Dany did not understand how he knew, but he did.

He would come to her door in the evenings and whine outside until she relented and let him in. The wolf would ease through the doorway and lower his head, long snout extended, nudging his cold nose against her stomach. His red eyes would drift shut, almost as he were concentrating on something.

Daenerys would pat his head and marvel at how Jon’s direwolf was already protective of his unborn child.

Ghost would come back most nights to check on her and she began to anticipate the time he would come, almost on a schedule, but when he began refusing to leave, instead curling up by the door so no one would be able to enter the room at night, that was when she knew the secret could no longer remain that way. Jon would soon realize his direwolf’s strange behavior.

She had to tell him.

—

“You’re going to be a father.”

She blurted it out as calmly as possible as Jon was hunched over a table looking at a map of the North, contemplating the Night King’s position from visions that Bran saw. His head popped up slowly from the hunch he had been in, turned around completely to face her, and Dany waited for the reaction.

Jon’s wide eyes went from hers to her stomach, the dress she wore now altered with help from Missandei to accommodate the small bump. It was visible now, to her, to Jon, and soon everyone else.

Some things could not be hidden anymore.

Daenerys smoothed her fingers over her belly and looked down at how her body had changed. Without a word, Jon walked slowly towards her and put a protective hand on her stomach, over top of hers, large palm covering her dainty hand. To her surprise, he smiled, joyful. She blinked at him, completely unsuspecting of the kind of reaction he emitted.

“You were right about the witch not being a reliable source,” she whispered lightly, keeping her voice down.

He kissed her then, slow, but passionate. They both knew there was no way they could deny themselves of each other.

The love was too strong.

—

When he didn’t come back from fighting the Night King, she feared the worst—death.

_No._

Not when the world was just beginning to make sense, not when there _was_ a future.

She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then waited some more.

_Come back to me._

She stood at the highest point at Winterfell with Missandei by her side the whole time and gazed out at the horizon clutching her stomach. Jon couldn’t be gone, he just couldn’t.

He eventually made his way back to her after the fall of the Night King, covered in blood and with several broken bones, but he came back, just as he did from Beyond the Wall many moons ago.

Relief flooded her.

—

Her belly has swollen as much as it could. It would be any day.

Jon was next to her in bed in his room—which had become _their_ room—at Winterfell, his touch being soothing as he caressed across her stomach as their child kicked inside, keeping her awake. It was well into the night and she couldn’t sleep from all the activity. The child was growing stronger by the days.

She told Jon to get some rest, he needed his sleep, but he said not until she drifted off first.

He kissed her gently, and when his hand slipped up her thighs and he felt the slickness that indicated she needed more, he then pulled her on top of him. She found it surprising he still wanted her, as she had heard men of Westeros usually didn’t engage with women when they were with child, especially with as far along as Daenerys was.

But Jon was different, he still touched her in all the right ways.

He allowed her to take her time on top of him, holding her lower belly with one hand as she rode him, his fingers pressed into the spot that made her head roll back.

—

Sansa was there with her as the labor continued. She whispered encouraging words to her as Daenerys gripped her hand tight, and she never faltered, never took her hand away. Missandei was there as well, on her other side. Gilly had helped deliver a few of her sisters’ babies, and knew what to do along with the aid of the Maester.

She screamed so loud the whole castle might have heard. Every time Daenerys thought she couldn’t do it anymore, they were all there to tell her to keep going.

So she did.

When the child was placed on her chest, Gilly told her it was a girl, and Dany let tears fall from her eyes. Euphoria took over and there was no more pain.

Sansa went into the hall and told someone to ring the castle bells—a baby had been born.

—

When she handed their daughter over to Jon, she thought she couldn’t be more in love with him. He was mesmerized by the tiny girl all wrapped up in cloth, nice and clean, looking even smaller in his arms.

Her eyes had not yet opened, but Dany knew whichever color they were, they would be beautiful. She already had Jon’s dark hair, small wisps at the top of her head. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

When Dany drifted off, she dreamed of all three of them at the beach of Dragonstone, and when she woke up, Jon was still next to her on the bed holding their girl. 

“She’s perfect,” he murmured to her.

Daenerys took her hands out from under the covers and Jon handed her back over. She whispered soft things to their new arrival, still without a name, and she opened her eyes at Dany’s voice. The violet was almost a surprise, but it was surely a delight.

Dany said they should name her Lyanna, in honor of Jon’s mother, but Jon decided that a unique name would be better. After all, his mother already had become Lyanna Targaryen, unknown to most of the world. Their daughter would rule once they were gone, and needed a name that would fit. Jon left it up to Dany, and she thought about somehow fusing the names of their mothers together, but a spelling could be figured out later. All she wanted was to savor the moment of the three of them there in that room at Winterfell with the fire crackling in the corner and a light snow falling.

Jon whispered to her how he wanted nothing more than to spend his life with Daenerys and their daughter.

“You’re mine,” he whispered to her, nuzzling her neck. “As long as I can be yours.”

She brushed her lips against his. “Always.”


End file.
